


The Mating Instinct

by Kleenexwoman



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Genderswap, dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-05
Updated: 2011-09-05
Packaged: 2017-10-23 10:49:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/249463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kleenexwoman/pseuds/Kleenexwoman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charlotte Xavier has never been attracted to a human male.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Mating Instinct

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fill for the following prompt:
> 
> "Genderswap! Charlotte Xavier's never been sexually attracted to anyone, and neither has her sister Raven...neither has Erik Lenscherr. That changes when Charlotte manages to pull Erik out of the sea--suddenly, everyone's hormones are raging like they've just hit puberty. Turns out that mutants have a powerful biological urge that drives them to reproduce with each other..."

Charlotte Xavier had never discovered boys as a young lady of her age ought to have. She has never quite discovered girls, either. A pair of sparkling blue eyes meant nothing to her, but a pair of heterochromatic eyes, one blue and one green, held a certain amount of fascination; a single eye, the other socket filled in naturally with flesh and webbed over with skin, was even better. She took an objective view of her dates' unique features that often left them with an objectified feeling, as though she was not sizing them up for potential in bed but as a kind of specimen or curiosity. It was not conducive to long-term relationships. Her sister Raven confessed a similar lack of attraction to anyone, but her own insecurities about her appearance led her to seek out the most "normal" boys she could find. She liked the flattery and attention they gave her most human form, but they were short-lived as well. Charlotte took to cutting her hair short and dressing like a lesbian--it was easier for people to whisper about whether she was one than to wonder why she only went out with people who looked somehow broken.

Sometimes Raven would relax into her natural form and lie next to Charlotte at night, and Charlotte, hesitantly, would tell her that she was beautiful. Her fingers skated over Raven's scaled skin, tracing the unique patterns her flesh made. Neither of them could ever quite name what they wanted.

Until Erik.

There was nothing physically freakish about him, except for the unnerving amount of teeth he showed when he smiled, which made Raven blush and intrigued Charlotte. She found herself fascinated as she never had been by any man by the broadness of his shoulders, the smooth muscles of his arms, the lines of his jaw and the depth of his two very perfect eyes.

The difference was what that normal, well-shaped body hid--the same fascinatingly mutated gene Charlotte's did, Raven's did. She found herself wondering where the seat of that power was, if it was in his corpus callosum, his amygdala, perhaps a nerve that ran down his spine. If it was encoded into every cell in his body, threaded throughout his sinews and muscles-- _mutant, mutant, mutant_ , making every thing he was...what? Not normal. Maybe not even human.

She began to consider her body as she never had before, as a vessel for her mind, her talent. Her wide hips and her small breasts had nothing to do with anything human. They were too connected to the way her mind could move, the April-witchery of the way she felt when she flitted from consciousness to consciousness.

They played chess. _This must be the way most women feel_ , Charlotte thought. There was something coiling and uncoiling in her stomach, and she thought she could feel heat radiating from the solid figure in the turtleneck, some sort of heat that spread across her body without disturbing the surrounding air. When he looked at her, it was like a punch in the stomach, every time.

Charlotte was feeling rather tossed around and battered by her emotions nowadays. When Raven shed her blonde form in the evenings, she found herself casually inspecting the swell of her adopted sister's breasts, the almost featureless curve between her legs, with the same sort of fascinated objectivity she had once cast towards the men with webbed feet or six fingers she had sought out.

She had come to know Erik deeply, more deeply than anyone had, and she knew she respected and cared for him like she had never before cared for anyone except for Raven--and perhaps with a fascination and intensity that had nothing to do with her own familiar, protective love towards her sister. She told herself as they moved the chess pieces blindly across the board that it was what they all needed--brothers, sisters. Family.

Erik stood. "Enough of this, I think," he said.

Charlotte blinked guilelessly at him. "But the game isn't over."

Erik laughed. "Neither of us really want to play, do we?" he asked. The chair Charlotte sat in swiveled of its own volition--the brass nails in the leather--and she was facing him.

He put his hands on the armrests and leaned over her, trapping her with his body. He was so warm near her, almost hot, and her stomach coiled and uncoiled and her lungs filled with fire.

"You've never been with anyone, have you?" he asked. "You've never let a man fuck you." The question was a real question, full of the same excitement and wonder she'd heard in her own voice when she'd asked her last ill-fated boyfriend whether he'd really been born without a nose.

"I've never wanted it," she said.

"Until now," he said.

"Erik," she said gently, "we don't need to." Brothers and sisters, she thought, we're family now, we mustn't ruin it, not ever.

"No," he said. "I think we do."

She reached out and put a hand to his temple, stroking his hair the way she knew his mother used to. He closed his eyes, and turned his head and brushed his lips against her palm. "We can be close," she said, "closer than anyone has ever been. We don't need--this--"

"Sex," he said into her palm, "say it. We don't need sex."

"We don't need sex to be close," she said.

"To be lovers," he said.

"Lovers--" she said, "no, Erik, I wasn't thinking--"

"Lovers," he said with a laugh, "brothers, sisters...we're none of that. We're above it. The way humans describe their relationships, draw lines, put them into boxes. We're better than that."

"Yes," she said, relieved. "We're better than that."

He stayed like that, his lips pressed to her hand, and then moved his lips down to her wrist. "I think you're afraid," he said.

"Of you?" she asked. "You wouldn't hurt me. Even if you wanted to, you couldn't. I'd make sure of that. You should be afraid of me."

"No," he said, "you're not afraid of me. You shouldn't be. You're afraid of this--" and he put his hand on her thigh. "How old are you, Charlotte? Twenty-five, at least. A quarter century of never wanting another human being, never wanting to kiss, never wanting to fuck--" His hand moved up her thigh.

"Above it," she gasped, and opened her legs to him.

He pressed a kiss against her neck and she could feel where his body was in the space of the room, solid and hot and strong next to her. "I know," he said. "I'm frightened too," and he pulled back. "I never had a sister," he said. "Be my sister, please."

"It's very difficult right now," she said.

"Then stop me," he said, "I know you can, you said you can. I don't want this. You don't either. We don't need--God, yes we do--"

She ached like she'd been riding a horse, riding a bicycle. "Calm your mind," she said to him and to herself.

He stood again, stepped away from her. "I'm sorry," he said.

"You're not," she said with a laugh, and stood up. It ached to walk, too. "I don't know why we want this, but it's not us." She touched his face and then took her hand away. "I want a friend, Erik, a brother, and I know you want the same thing. It's only human to want to be loved."

It was as though his eyes lit up. "But we're not quite human," he said, "are we?"

"It's only a single gene," she said.

"But it makes such a difference," he said. "It makes us family."

She closed her eyes and let herself categorize her desires. Her brain was fascinated, her heart tugged in friendship and pity. Her body was not communicating well with either of them--the heat and ache in her had nothing to do with the fellowship she felt with the man. It was something beyond just Erik, beyond his mind, something physical and greedy.

"The Westermarck Effect," she said. "Genes calling to each other across oceans of unfamiliarity, each to each. Raven's my sister, I've come to love her as such. But you--I didn't know you as a child."

"And?" he said.

"Simple reproductive urge," she said. "The desire to pass on what we have in common. I know you're a mutant, you know I'm one...our bodies want to make more of them. It's very base. Very silly, really."

"Oh," he said, "is that all."

She shrugged. "That's all. We don't have to listen to it."

"I'd rather not deny it," he said, and stepped closer to her again and put his hands around her waist and pressed ohgod, she thought, that's it, right there, that's what I want. "It's part of who we are. It's part of what makes us better."

"It's human," she said.

"It's mutant," he said, and she thought she could almost see his eyes glow with the hot spark of an animal and the cold spark of metal.

The creaking and groaning of metal under duress, and then cold metal vines wrapped around her ankles, dragging her onto the bed as he walked back with her like a dancer. She felt her dress lift above her head, blinding her momentarily before she felt nothing but cool air on her skin--he must have used ornaments in the room, pressed them into his service to undress her--and then a letter opener sliding smooth against the skin of her leg, the fabric of her underwear being deftly ripped away.

"I thought you said you could stop me," he said, and smiled. She did not like his smile now.

"It's hard to concentrate," she murmured. The bed was soft under her, the metal around her legs--whatever he had used, if it was from the bedframe or cutlery or the underwire in her brassiere, she did not care--sang to her, vibrating with Erik's need like a man's hands trembling when he touches the first woman he will ever kiss.

He climbed up on the bed and knelt between her legs. _This is it_ , she thought, _I am going to be raped in my own house in my own bed by a strange man I pulled out of the ocean. I am a fool._

He was taking off his clothes, jeans slithering over the side of the bed, belt flying across the room by the weight of its buckle, turtleneck gone. He leaned over her, held his body over her. "You are beautiful," he said, "even though you are not blue."

His hands went to her breasts, touched them gingerly, and said, "Oh god, Erik, please don't," and she thought at him, You can do that harder.

"Forgive me," he said, "I've never been with a woman before." His mouth went to her left nipple and then her right one, and then he sat up and trailed his hands down her torso and over her stomach.

She caught a vivid, warm glimpse of his fantasies, then. Erik spreading his hands over her stomach, swollen with child. Their child. A mutant child. _Mother_ , he thought without words. _Mother of a new race, mother of all._

She had never felt so inhuman then. She had so often felt less than human or simply _null-human_ , something that was only looking in on the shared experience that everyone else but her seemed to know without the benefit of telepathy. But now she was _other_ , she was _more_. What they were to each other didn't matter, what they called it. Categories of lovers and sisters, rape and making love, held no meaning for them because these were things humans cared for and things that mutants-- _like them, no not just like us, this is us and only us, we define it_ \--knew held no meaning for them to define.

Erik kissed her stomach, kissed a wet trail down her stomach until his lips touched her cunt. He closed his eyes and used his mouth to open her, kissing the nub of flesh that was throbbing like an exposed heart between her legs. He looked harmless, his eyes half-closed in concentration, mouth working against her. It was warm and wet and more pleasant than anything, a sense of physical soothing that gave way to bright, uncomplicated jabs of pleasure. She could feel her pelvic muscles contracting in helpless little jerks without conscious approval. It no longer mattered whether her body was betraying her or cooperating with her--something was inevitable, and she was helpless and loath to stop it.

Erik slid a finger into her, and she lazily skimmed the surface of his mind, like she imagined an unbound lover might put her hand affectionately on his hair, and was surprised at what she found. Erik's mind was usually full and complex, a balancing act of dark emotions blooming like bruises under the surface of any stray thoughts he might have and complicated plans whirring and creaking like ponderous machines. The machinery and plumes of warring emotion had slowed, stopped, overlaid by an opaqueness of urgent, carnal need. He was no longer thinking in words, barely in pictures, only in physical sensations--ache, pleasure, the need to plunge himself as far as he could into Charlotte.

He was like an animal, and it took all of her will to stop herself from succumbing fully to the corresponding urges building inside her and fogging her brain, the need to have his cock in her, his body over hers and pressed to hers, the desire to spread her legs farther and buck her hips.

He stopped for a moment and looked at her with abject wonder and fear. "I can't control myself," he said, "I can't, I'm sorry, Charlotte, it's like I have to--"

Charlotte gritted her teeth. "No," she said, "you think you're out of control? This, this is what it's like to not control yourself," and she shoved herself into his mind, forcing her presence everywhere, inhabiting the sharp ache of his need and the distant horror he felt at it. She put on his arms and legs like a suit, felt her presence inhabit his lungs, his mouth, and then spread out and settle in his groin.

She let his eyes look at her with incomprehension, and then she raised his hands and lowered them. "I need it too," she said, "and I simply can't take the chance that you'll have some attack of conscience and stop."

It was like playing with dolls or interlocking wooden blocks, sliding his body into hers. He was the perfect toy; she could make him go as slow as she liked, torturous to both of them, or grind him hard and fast into her until her bowels hurt and his organs felt jarred. Her control wasn't perfect; he was jerky and sometimes halting, like a puppet.

At last, she made him lie down on top of her, still only moving his cock in and out of her body. There was something in his eyes she wasn't used to, a mixture of helpless love and a sort of pathetic awe.

"For god's sake," she said, "come, then," and he did as her own orgasm burned up her body like the mushroom clouds that had given them both their powers.

Charlotte felt twinges pinging throughout her body, aftershocks, but every muscle was so relaxed that she didn't care. She loosened her grip on his mind, let him slide out of her as she slid out of him. The metal that had wrapped itself around her ankles abruptly sprang open. She pushed the pieces off the bed with her feet, let them fall to the floor. They clattered dully on the hardwood. She thought, distantly, that she might feel bad about what she'd done in a little while, when everything stopped feeling so good.

He sat on the bed, his back to her, very still. She watched him, tracing patterns idly over her stomach. She could feel the wet slickness of his come inside of her, and closed her legs. "Mother of a new race," she said. "Really?"

"Really," he said dully.

"Mmm," she said. She felt her body as never before. It had always been a sexless vehicle for her great and encompassing mind. Now she delved inside of herself, thought of the cells already fertilizing, splitting, growing, fueled by the intense pleasure she had felt in every muscle, every cell, every strand of DNA.

She laid back and ran her foot up and down his back, already planning the next night, and the next. Raven would have to be involved in some way; she imagined Erik's lean body and Raven's blue form twined together. It would make them sisters even more than they were now, she thought, carrying the same man's child. Carrying the same _mutant's_ child. All of them sisters and brothers and lovers all at the same time.


End file.
